Nyx Volkova

ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ꜱᴏ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋɴᴇꜱꜱ ʜᴜᴍᴍᴇᴅ

[nyxvolkova]

За встречу!

Nyx Volkova    ━━  twenty six // troublemaker // doc

OOC:

ever, all grown up, she/her, PST, cares about flossing, no triggers

TRIGGER WARNINGS: 

daddy issues ( yikes ), child abandonment, implied drug use, homelessness

STATS:

gender: cis woman

pronouns: she /  her

age & date of birth: 26 / Oct 13, 1995

place of birth: moscow, russia

occupation: unemployed / thief

time in pleasance: april 2021

height / weight: 5’4” / 163cm

dominant hand: ambidextrous

orientation: pansexual

religion: agnostic

alignment: chaotic neutral

TLDR:

Nyx was an orphan who gets adopted by a family /  international criminal organization. Seeking approval of the patriarch of the family, Nyx becomes a v proficient thief / spy thing. Something goes wrong on a job in Las Vegas! (bet you didn’t see that coming) rumor is she tattled to the FBI and ruined a heist. ( did she tho?? ) Were her fam killed? Captured? WHAT WERE THE CONSEQUENCES?? She has no idea ‘cause she BOOKED it. Ends up in pleasence when her classic ol’ mustang dies. Kinda digs it here, people have been nice, and honestly where else is she going to go? She has NO PLAN. Probably gonna party n thief around ‘til she has to run again, living in her car behind the bar like a real classy bitch.

QUESTIONS:

✘.  have you had any strange encounters in town?

NYX   ━━   it was the only thing written on the crumpled piece of paper attached to her blanket when she was found as an infant, abandoned at the steps of the orphanage. There was no last name, nothing at all to trace her back to those who brought her into the world. Despite that ( & knowing no other reality to compare it to ) she adjusted well enough to life as an orphan. At least, she thought she did. Those who charged with her care, however, would say otherwise. A bright, mischievous little thing, Nyx had quick hands ( always snatching things that didn’t belong to her ) & savored a challenge; she chased the adrenaline of it, always testing boundaries & pushing to see how much she could get away with. It was written that her antics were a cry for attention, a desperation to be noticed, no matter what it was for. 

‘You will never find a family  if you don’t start behaving, no one wants a troublemaker,’ they warned.

But as fate would have it, that couldn’t be further from the truth. In fact it was her record & the way it’s pages were marked every which way in red ink, highlighting her ‘behavioral concerns’ that drew the internationally notorious Volkov family to adopt her. 

“will you love me?” she could remember asking the patriarch, clutching onto his hand as he walked her into the estate. 

“when you earn it,” was his stern reply.   

From that point onward, his approval was what she strived for  ━━  to work her way up in the family’s “business”, to perfect her own skills so that she could earn her place & prove that she was worthy of their father’s affection. Wherever she was asked to go, whatever she was asked to do, to take, she was there.

It was that memory that lingered with her the heaviest the night she encountered him. 

She leaves the general store, her pockets weighted with the pilfered essentials she was running low on and some snacks for the evening. Her car was parked at spotlight, and it was there she walked.

As she approaches the lot, she notices the figure of a man lingering next to her mustang; the suit & hat he wore appearing very out of place for such a quiet, uneventful evening in town. Wary of the stranger, her steps slow, trying to gauge who it could be   ━━   maybe the police? ( Had they even noticed what she’s been taking? ) Maybe someone from the bar, who recognized the car & knew she might be tucked away inside sleeping? ( Creepy, & precisely why she slept with her knife curled in her hands. ) Neither of those seemed right, though, & it was then the thought came sneaking into her mind...

… was it them? Had they finally found her? Tracked her to pleasance, of all places?

 …was it him? 

“Отец…?” she ventures, the word a careful whisper, half of hope & half of dread, so quietly moving through the air between them that she wondered if he would even hear her at all. 

The man turns, his eyes finding her & suddenly, all at once she feels like a child in moscow all over again. Small & uncertain of her belonging, everything around her intimidating & unfamiliar, desperate to know her place within in it all, if she was cared for  ━━   if she would be loved. The corners of her eyes well with tears, the nostalgia that finds her beneath his gaze overwhelming. 

“это ты, отец?” her voice shakes as she speaks again & his hand raises, silencing her before she could continue. 

“Nyx,” the man says instead, the distance between them now somehow closed, though she wasn’t sure how    ━━   found that she didn’t care how, as his arms reach to wrap around her shoulders, to pull her inward against him. This man wasn’t Volkov, she knew this intimately; the scar on his face was foregin & the voice had none of the gravel she could still hear when her eyes closed at night. But he felt like him, so profoundly that she began to crumble within the familiarity of his embrace, the surge of guilt that it brought with it, tears spilling down her cheeks as she began to sob against his chest.  

“You’re alone again, Nyx,” he says, the timbre of it heavy with sadness    ━━   with disappointment.

“I know, it’s all my fault. I’m sorry. I’m so.. so sorry. I.. didn’t know what else to do. I-I.. “ she chokes, voice weakening with every apology and breathy gasp for air between them.

“Shhh..” she feels his hand move behind her head, caressing softly down her hair. “I know.. I know.”

“What.. can I do? Tell me what to do, Отец, пожалуйста, I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

There is silence for a moment, a painful hush of consideration that felt as if  it paused time itself, a hesitation she’d never known from the man whose name she bore, until finally he asked “...will you love me, Nyx?” His voice breaks against the inflection of her name, as if he didn’t know. All this time, didn’t he know? She’d always loved him. 

“Yes, я люблю вас,” her response a whimper, begging she cries against his shirt,  “I want to go home, please take me back with you, пожалуйста, please...”

“Shhh...” 

He holds her until her tears dry and her shaking breaths quiet. She feels him there, the warmth of his arms around her, the comfort of his presence. She wishes she could stay there. That he could stay with her. That she could go with him again. But when she lifts her face from his chest, to look up and find his face, he is gone already. 

A crushing emptiness fills the places in her that, for a moment, had been soothed by the man’s embrace. The realization that, as quickly as he had appeared, he had left her. 

Alone, again.

Translations: (1) Отец: “otets”, father (2) это ты, отец?: “eto ty, otets?” is it you father? (3) Отец, пожалуйста: “otets, pozhaluista” father, please (4) я люблю вас: “ya ya lublu vas”, I love you (5) пожалуйста: “pozhaluista” please

✘.  do you have any theories as to why you have had these encounters? can you support these theories or are they just at the top of your head?

“I don’t know why he was there that night. Why.. it was me,” she looks downward into her glass, swirling the remaining vodka at the bottom around in passive circles. “I am not even sure it really happened, at all.” She hadn’t been drinking that night, hadn’t had anything in her system that would account for a hallucination like that to have occurred, but somehow it remained a possibility. Which was more likely? Being drugged, maybe forgetting that she’d chosen to take something, or having an encounter with a man who didn’t exist? There was no explaining what happened, not in any way that made sense, and it was her preference to try and forget it entirely. 

But that, too, wasn’t entirely possible. Because now, even weeks later when her eyes closed to sleep, she could still sometimes feel his arms around her, his voice soothing, “shhh..” 

 ✘.  why did you come to pleasance? do you have any plans of leaving?

You could always just lie, her thoughts suggest. It would be easier that way. There would be fewer follow up questions, fewer loose ends that could potentially trace a path to those who still sought her   ━━   the FBI, for one; but she would prefer them over the bratva, whom she feared the most. For her role in a job gone wrong, rumors of her betrayal spread through the family’s organization like wildfire ( the investigators had gotten to her, they whispered, she sang like a bird & ruined us all. ) Should they be the ones to trace her to where she hid in pleasance, she would be left to rot beneath it’s soil. 

Her gaze drifts upwards to the person attempting to prompt a conversation, a façade of shyness passing over her features, lips frowning, eyes apologetic as shoulders lift into a shrug, “I’m sorry. My English.. Is not very...” her voice trails, allowing her accent to turn about her words with more prominence than usual, and for the man to fill in the blanks in whatever way he needed to so that she could avoid answering him. 

His hands lift in understanding, an exchange of smiles, and finally she is left alone again   ━━   a deep exhale to mark the small victory of solitude. 

It was an appeal of pleasence, to be sure. There was a shroud of quiet about the place, a reverence for secrets and tales untold. She had her share of each of them, as did all those she’s encountered   ━━   without words, you could read it across the lines of their faces, within the flickering light behind their eyes. She would stay, for a time at least, until she found herself with a plan for herself so that she might find a way to live without the fear of being hunted still looming behind her.

✘.  what is your favorite spot in town? 

The curve of her lips bow upward with the answer, which glides effortlessly to the tip of her tongue, carrying with it the memory of her first night in pleasance. “Dutch’s,” she says, the harsh edges of her accent softening with affection as she recalls vividly the smell the smoke in the air as her mustang’s transmission comes to a sputtering hault, the sound of crunching gravel beneath the tires as she manages to coax the car off the road and into the bar’s parking lot. The sun teetered just over the horizon, what little light remaining of the day soon to be snuffed out behind the silhouette of trees in the distance. .

She’d been driving for days   ━━   or at least, that’s how long it felt like she’d been on the road, but she’d somehow lost track of time along the way. Hell, she wasn’t even entirely sure where she was anymore, not really. State lines blurred into each other, their names & boundaries unfamiliar, their back roads even worse as they tangled together so haphazardly that the best she could hope for was that she hadn’t gotten so turned around that she was backtracking west. 

Maybe it was a blessing in disguise, to be forced to slow down for a moment. To rest, to reorient herself. 

While she wasn’t sure what exactly to expect at a bar in some dusty old american town, she found herself overwhelmed by the generosity she was offered when she explained her situation. Before long, the mustang was on its way to otto’s. She’d eaten the first hot meal she could recall having in days, and eventually fell asleep, undisturbed against the counter.

As she remains in pleasance, she has become a fixture of sorts at the bar. From throwing back rounds of vodka and catching up with others she’s begun to recognize as regulars, to stumbling back into her mustang which is always faithfully parked behind the building to sleep, dutch’s has easily become the place she feels the most comfortable, the safest. 

✘.  what do you think of vinny?

She has known people like vinny all her life. Loud, and proud, and happy to tell you about it. It’s a comfort, of sorts, when ever she visits the deli   ━━   it reminds her a little of home back in russia. She enjoys their conversations, the snarky shit-talking back and forth. “This is why you don’t feed strays,” he jokes when she walks through the doors, “they always keep coming back.” 

Definitely does not steal from him. 

✘.  if you could be any fictional character from a movie, who would it be and why?

Even as a child Nyx contained far too much energy to sit still long enough to make it through movies or television, let alone books ( much to the frustration of her teachers. ) Instead, she preferred keeping her hands busy, her mind active with puzzles and riddles, stirring up trouble to work out how to get herself back out of it. But, if she had to choose from characters she knew peripherally, cat women would be a strong contender, out of respect for their mutual craft of taking what didn’t belong to them.

✘.  lastly, what is your greatest fear? 

“Being found,” she replies honestly, but her eyes drift downwards with the answer, knowing full well how it lingers incomplete. But even toiling about her own mind she didn’t know how to reconcile the two competing truths.. Saying it out loud… the words always get stuck in her throat. The dissonance of them curling in the pit of her stomach. 

“But also…  not being found.” 

[nyxvolkova]

behrooz-najm​:

WHERE: Dutch’s bar WHEN: Sunday 3 am WITH @nyxvolkova

Bez didn’t need to drink alcohol in order to stay up almost all through Sunday morning. They were enjoying the regulars being friendly to them, that was nice. Being noticed and having conversations with people who seemed to enjoy their company despite being a cop. 

They walked over to a younger person they had spotted a few times before. “Hi,” they started with a smile. “I’ve seen you around here a few times, but not talked with you yet. I’m Behrooz, but Bez is easier.” 

This was usually about when Nyx was thinking about calling it a night. Ever since she was little she's always been more of a nocturnal creature, going to sleep just before the sun would rise and not waking again until well into the afternoon. Her caretakers at the orphanage would complain, but as it turned out having a naturally flipped clock was perfect for the line of work she'd eventually found herself in. 

As usual, she didn't have the cash on her to pay ( it was nothing new, Dutch was used to it by now ) and she was looking to see where the bartender was before bailing. It was just then the other approaches, hindering her escape. Her eyes drift upwards to them, her face tilting curiously to the side. She'd seen them around the bar as well, but hadn't quite gotten around to making their acquaintance. "Nyx," she offers, returning their smile one of her own. "Nice to meet you, finally. I'm new here, but I am already kinda turning into a regular here," she admits, laughing. 

[nyxvolkova]

where: z’s

when: after hours

who: closed for @luis-now-live

The bottle of vodka dangles loose between her fingers. It was venturing past half-empty by now ( what time now was exactly, Nyx had utterly no clue ) as she lifts it again to her lips. The smooth bite of it washes back across her tongue, furthering the warmth that sprints through her blood, pleasantly dampening her mind and allowing her focus to idle over the game she and Luís had settled upon: Dance Dance Revolution, her personal favorite.

"GO GO GO!" she encourages, her free hand balancing herself on the game's safety bar as she hops with each word, entirely invested in his success. The song he'd chosen picks up it's tempo towards the end, demanding quite the intricate footwork from him; she watches, absolutely bubbling with anticipation. 

"Ahhhhhh! NOOOO! YOU HAD IT TOO!" She laments loudly, before her words disintegrate into a fit of bright laughter, offering him the bottle as his score displays. "Y'gotta drink. you will do better next time if you are drunker.. more drunk? Wait, which is it? Drunkest? No, I think that's me. Which means," she raises a finger for emphasis, "I am about to crush you."  

[nyxvolkova]

ajita-tannu​:

WHERE: Dutch’s bar WHEN: Sunday 3 am WITH @nyxvolkova​

“Oh, ooooh, no, don’t drink that!” Ajita said quickly when the dark haired person reached for the glass Ajita had standing next to their open laptop. They quickly took the glass in their hand and moved it to the other side. “Sorry, sorry.” Then they paused. “If you want to drink it… I mean, it’s ice tea that my mom made and it’s sooo good, and for a moment there the thought of sharing it with anyone freaked me out.” They laughed. “I had to do without it for a long time, so my mom has been making it non-stop.” They held out the glass. “Mixes perfectly with gin. That’s what my dad says, I don’t actually know.” 

.

"Oh, shit!" Nyx recoils her hand from the glass, laughing at the mistake she'd made, and instead picks up her own drink for a sip; which definitely was not tea. "No, no, hush it was my fault. I'm sorry, my tipsy brain can't be trusted this late, apparently." Nyx listens to them chatter on about the drink, and she had to admit they were really selling her on it. "Well, now you have me tempted to steal a taste for real.." an idea strikes her then, "hey, how about I get you some gin for it? We can both try something new tonight."

[nyxvolkova]

rhyslovespopcorn​:

WHERE: Main Street WHEN: Friday at 5pm after school WITH @nyxvolkova​

Rhys ran down the street with a tiny bird in his hand that he had found in the parking lot near the library. 

He could’ve gotten into his car.

Too late now.

This bird needed water.

“Water!” he yelled.

Then almost ran into something. “Do you have water?”

He held up the bird. “For this birdie?” 

.

Nyx hadn’t actively avoided the man running down the street because she honestly didn’t think he would actually run into her. But as it became increasingly clear that he had no intention to stop, at the very last moment she glides sideways out of his path, her nose wrinkling into an irritated little snarl, “watch where you’re going!”

Water, he says. She looks into his hands as he rasies them to show her the source of his panic. 

... for a bird? 

“I.. uh.. my car is just over here,” while a part of her said to just let the crazy man be crazy on his own and to simply go about her business, she had to admit it was rare to find such genuine displays of kindness, and it was that that compelled her to offer, “I should have some in the trunk.” She gestures to be followed, “this way.” 

[francowho]

[nyxvolkova]

dutchblackwell​:

where: dutch’s when: three am on a friday who @nyxvolkova & dutch

Last call had happened over an hour ago – it had been a relatively slow night for a Friday, but honestly that wasn’t saying much. In a town like Pleasance it was entirely rare for all the locals to be out and about in the same location, the term ‘hot spot’ entirely moot at least for as long as Dutch has been alive. 

Still, though, the night has been quieter than usual, which meant it hadn’t taken long for his employees to close up shop and head home. “Four-sixty, four-sixty-one – wait…” Dutch frowns, wondering if he’d counted the drawer wrong or if he’s actually fifty dollars short. The former was typically not the case – contrary to popular belief, he’s good at math even when his head is in outer space. He may be a college drop out, but he’s smarter than he looks.

“You didn’t see anyone skip out on their tab tonight, did ya?” he asks Nyx, who’s taking it upon herself to keep Dutch company tonight (like most nights these days). He hasn’t known her for very long at this point, but he’s aware she has a keen eye and a sharp wit to match his own less-than-stellar one, so despite the large tab she’s wracked up her presence is a welcome one. 

“Someone besides you, I mean. Pretty sure you owe me more than fifty bucks at this point. A smirk crosses as lips as he flings the drawer shut. “Not that I’m counting or nothin’.”

.

How Nyx got into her car, started the engine, and managed to maneuver the beast through pleasance was a mystery beyond her. The route she took back to dutch's, how fast she'd gone along the way  ━━  none of it was there. It was as if she'd simply blinked and found herself outside the bar, transported. What happened at spotlight played over and over in her mind, the strange man's voice on repeat as clearly as if he were still whispering soft and soothing against her ear, the physical memory of his embrace still a lingering pressure wrapping around her. 

Drinks. She needed drinks. Several of them. Distractions, in whatever form came  ━━  dutch's was always good for that. She fixes her makeup in the cracked rearview mirror, coaxing liner back into place, swiping away the black smudges that trailed down her cheeks. Presentable enough, she makes her way inside, taking up residence at her usual perch along the counter. 

Four empty mule cups sit lined up in front of her, marking the hours that had already come and gone by the time she realizes that Dutch was speaking to her, that they were the only two souls remaining inside. "Huh?" she mumbles, blinking upward from the glass of water that miraculously found its way between her hands, sure she hadn't asked for it herself. 

The money. "Oh, about that," she says, her words cursive as she recalls awhile ago when she'd followed the woman into the bathroom after watching her crumple her unpaid bill into her purse. "Here," she says, digging from her own pocket the $60 she'd lifted from the other while she'd dried her hands at the sink. "She wanted -hic- you t' have this. 'n look -hic- even tipped ya, too." ( If Nyx forgot to pay him from time to time, the least she could do was make sure others stayed honest. ) 

The alcohol saturating her blood and the smirking dig mentioning her own tab draws a sideways smile from her, and she shakes her head ( a mistake, as the venue didn't seem to quit moving at the same time she did. ) "That's good 'cause -hic- I am not counting either. Hey, are.. uh..-hic-" her face tilts to one side, inquisitively, the usual brightness in her voice weighing heavy onto her question, "are you leaving now?"

[brittany-murphy]

It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, PTSDee (S12E07)

[nyxvolkova]

where: john's home

when: sunday afternoon

who: closed for @johndoesmith​

Nyx finally kills the mustang's engine after having to double back down the street to find a place to park. She had certainly expected a number of people to have come to the cookout ( even though she hadn't properly met the man she knew that John was quite the figure around town ) but still the turn out was surprising. She gathers her gifts from the passenger seat ( a bottle of Green Mark vodka and a box of chocolates ) and makes her way toward the front door. If she were going to settle into pleasance for awhile, it was best to make a good first impression and get to know who was who.

Unsure of what was polite or not in such a little town, her life to this point spent in bustling 24-7 cities, she presses her elbow into the doorbell, to avoid offending by just letting herself in ( even though she'd assume it was fine, being an open invitation and all. ) The handle turns not a moment later, revealing who she recognized as John himself standing at the threshold. "Oh, hi, hello... I hope it is okay, I heard it was fine to just come by? I'm Nyx, and I just got to town, uhm... A month ago?"

A downward gesture to the items in her arm, "I didn't know if you drank? So.. I brought the chocolates, just in case."

[nyxvolkova]

where: an abaondoned building outside of town

when: midnight, monday

who: closed for @julienkzlv​

Were she watching this night unfold on screen in a movie theater, popcorn ( with extra butter ) in her lap, she'd be calling herself an absolute idiot for agreeing to this in the first place. It was a classic horror script, after all: meet up after dark, in an old building on the outskirts of a small american town renowned for unexplained disappearances, deaths, and strange occurrences  ━━  what could possibly go wrong? ( A question JD had tactfully avoided giving a straight answer to. )

She did have to admit that she was curious about his line of work, since he spoke about it so frequently. ( Though she wondered if it could still be considered a line of work if he wasn't exactly making money doing it yet? ) How all the little gizmos and bits of technology actually proved anything, other than how obsessively seriously he took his investigations. At the very least, it was something to do that wasn't just adding to her tab at dutch's for a change, so... she'd agreed to join him.  

"I swear, if this gets me killed, you will not have to hunt for my ghost afterwards because I will find you and HAUNT your ass to the end of days," she warns, carrying one of his duffle bags of equipment and following his lead across creaking floorboards into the run-down old building that was just as dark and dusty as she imagined it would be. ( Because ghosts don't haunt well-lit air-conditioned places, apparently? )

She hefts the bag onto the first flat surfaces she encounters, a layer of gray dust and cobwebs streaking clean where it lands, and her eyes drift to where he stands, "so how does it start? Do we need to.. light candles or something?"  

[ghostling]

[kseniasoloedits]

[nyxvolkova]

#taglife.